From Ashes Page 15

  “Dante has his work cut out with those ones,” he muttered, throwing the bait out there in a lame attempt to get Morgan to change the subject.

  It didn’t work.

  “We were no different at their age. Look at them. They can’t be more than twenty.” Morgan ran a hand through his hair then focused fully on Mason. “Want to tell me why you insist on self-medicating with bullets instead of alcohol like a normal person?”

  “I’m not self-medicating anything.” As denials went, it was pretty pathetic, but Mason went with it anyway. Turning back to the counter, he began gathering the empty magazines and picked up the gun. The he walked to the wide bank of shelving at the back of the armory and pulled out the necessary supplies to clean and reload the everything.

  LexTals cleaned up after themselves.

  It was one of the first thing they’d been taught. Replace what was used, leave everything ready in case of an attack.

  Morgan—the persistent bastard—followed him, snatching up the box of bullets and grabbing the magazines to reload before Mason could protest. Side by side, they worked in silence, Morgan seemingly relaxed and Mason’s spine winding tighter with each passing moment. He kept glancing up, expecting his brother to take advantage and start questioning.

  Morgan didn’t.

  Eventually, Mason was able to concentrate fully on the task in front of him. Clearing out the gunpowder, oiling all the respective parts. He controlled the things he could, ensured that everything would function properly. It all worked better if he—

  “Does the self-medicating have anything to do with a certain curvy-as-hell, delicious receptionist you ran off with?” Morgan asked, continuing their earlier conversation as if they hadn’t been silent for the last fifteen minutes. The tone was mild, his eyes too wide to be anything but false innocence.

  Mason swallowed back a growl, wanting to tear into his brother for daring to look at Gabby, for talking about her gorgeous body. “I didn’t run off with anyone.”

  “How about spent the night with?” Morgan pressed.

  Clenching his jaw, Mason didn’t answer, just forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. When he’d finished with the gun, he hung it back on the rack with the others. Morgan, proving that he was somehow smarter than common society might expect, fell silent, and wordlessly returned the filled magazines to their proper container.

  Or maybe not.

  Because as they walked side by side out of the armory, Morgan bumped his shoulder and said, “That Gabby has the sweetest ass I’ve ever seen. I’d like to—”

  Mason reacted before his brain had fully processed it was crap that Morgan was spouting. In one smooth movement, he had his brother pinned against the wall, his forearm digging roughly into the soft flesh of Morgan’s neck.

  And his moronic brother was grinning like a fool.

  “You’re so screwed,” Morgan rasped out. “You haven’t tried to punch me since . . .” The smile flattened out, the unspoken reference to Victoria sobering his brother’s amusement.

  Mason let him go with a curse. Then turned and walked in the direction of his quarters. He needed a shower and—dammit—he needed to find Gabby, to see her. The feelings threatened to surge again. His fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe, that he should give up now before he risked her safety.

  Before he was shattered into pieces that couldn’t be glued back together.

  He forced the emotions back. Their connection was still strengthening, their shared time making it almost impossible to turn away from the link tying them together.

  And deep down, he didn’t want to turn away.

  He didn’t trust anyone else to keep her safe.

  Yes.

  But also, it wasn’t just that he wanted to protect her. He liked Gabby. He enjoyed spending time with her, thought she was gorgeous and cute and sexy and incredibly strong. It was just that—

  “She’s not Victoria,” Morgan said, interrupting Mason’s thoughts.

  Turning to his brother, surprise coursing through him at the nearly telepathic insight. Quickly, he shoved it away. Morgan had always been able to see through him, more so than any other person.

  It shouldn’t surprise him that his own brother understood him so well.

  “I know that she’s not Victoria,” he said and sighed. “It should bother me more than it does, I think. But it doesn’t matter to me that Gabby is different.”

  She was strong in ways Victoria had never been. She challenged him, pushed back. She was unique . . . which meant she could possess a completely different portion of his heart.

  Wonderful. Terrifying.

  “She’s great,” Mason said when Morgan didn’t speak. “I like her a lot.” He paused and cursed under her breath. “Maybe too much,” he added softly. Frustration fueled his steps as he began walking again. Everything in his mind was snarled, but he was too old to let fears rule him.

  And he was too damned old to be hurt again. To be shattered into a million pieces.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Morgan asked, easily keeping pace.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Morgan grabbed his arm and wrenched him to a halt. “You say you like this woman. For the first time in almost two centuries you feel something for a woman and you’re wavering.” He shoved Mason. Hard. “Go after her, bro. Don’t just stand there too scared to jump in from the sidelines.”

  “We’re bonded.”

  Morgan’s arm dropped. “What?”

  “Gabby and I are bonded.” Mason paused, starting forward again as the words flowed out. “Or almost bonded. We haven’t mixed our magic but everything else is there. The mental link, the possessiveness. I’ve even heard her.” He tapped his temple. “I heard her mind in my own. And fuck, Morgan, I could tell you exactly where she is right now.”

  “I—holy shit.” His brother fumbled for a few seconds then shook his head, as though clearing it. “But that’s good news, right? A bond is a good thing.”

  Was it?

  Mason supposed on the surface it was. But all of the bullshit tearing through his mind gave him pause.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Daughtry and Cody are sickeningly happy.”

  “Yeah.” He released a long, slow breath. “But I’m not Cody.”

  “And Daughtry’s not Gabby,” Morgan said. “That’s the point. A bond isn’t just about creating little magical geniuses, like Daughtry says. It’s about bringing out the best in one another.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know about that. Everything I’ve ever read says a bond is biology and nothing more.”

  Morgan sighed. “Maybe I’m as much of a sap as Cody, but I can’t believe that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not believe it’s only biology?” his brother asked. “Because if our existence is solely reduced to making babies to populate the earth in the future, then I’m opting out.” Morgan poked him in the chest. “I want to live, bro. I want to have a woman I can laugh with and love and be pissed at then make up. And then I want to do the whole damned thing again.”

  “Sounds exhausting,” Mason quipped. Though he would never admit it—even under pain of death—the picture his brother painted was appealing. So damned appealing he could almost imagine the entire scenario with Gabby.

  Her cheeks would be glazed with pink in frustration, her brown eyes filled with sparks. She’d be beautiful and sexy and—

  Damn.

  Forget the fact that his brother may be way more insightful than he’d ever given him credit for, Mason wanted that.

  He wanted a chance at a future with Gabby more than he wanted his next breath.

  “Whatever you say, bro.” Morgan tilted his head to the opposite hall. “I’m going to crash now.”

  Mason frowned. “Did you cover John’s patrol last night?”

  Morgan nodded. “John got a tip he wanted to check out. Monroe teleported him there and back.” He shrugged. “Turned
out it was nothing.”

  “Don’t forget to eat.”

  Morgan grinned, a quick flash of white teeth. “Mom already dropped off a plate for me.” He narrowed his eyes and affected a terrible version of their mother’s voice. “She expects to see you for dinner.”

  Mason groaned as he turned toward his own quarters, Morgan’s laughter chasing him all the way down the hall.

  Their mother was great. But being called to dinner meant one of two things. She needed a favor—usually involving painting the walls or rearranging every single bit of furniture in her rooms—or they were being called in to be interrogated.

  And even the most experienced FBI investigator had nothing on their mother.

  As Mason stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower to wash the smell of sweat and gunpowder down the drain, he knew his mother wasn’t readying to redesign her quarters again.

  Nope. This was about Gabby.

  Twenty-Five

  Gabby

  She stared out the open door of her quarters with surprise. Mason’s hair was damp from the shower and he wore a button-down and slacks.

  She’d never seen him in anything aside from a T-shirt and jeans.

  The look was a good one.

  “So will you come?” he asked into the silence. His request, blurted the moment she’d opened the door, had surprised her and then she’d gotten distracted by his shoulders, his chest—

  “You want me to meet your mother?” It was a squeak, rather than a normal reply. “Now?”

  His eyes danced with amusement. “Yes.”

  Her heart pounded and her words were as hurried as the thoughts racing across her mind. “But what should I wear? I need time to shower and do my hair and—”

  His fingers grazed her cheek. “I was married, Sunshine. I know you need some time. It’s not for an hour.” He stepped into her space, forcing her to either retreat or have him press against her.

  As much as the idea of having all of his hard muscles flush against her body appealed to her, they didn’t have time for that. Not if she was going to make a good impression on his mother.

  Oh God, was she actually going to do this? Meet. His. Mother?

  No.

  “I—” She began then shook her head. “I—uh . . .”

  “Just say yes,” he murmured. “If you don’t, I’ll spend the whole time fielding questions about you. She might as well have the answers from the source, don’t you think?”

  “Why would she—?” She broke off. “She knows. Already? But how?”

  His lips twitched. “Have you forgotten where you live?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She really shouldn’t be surprised that his mother had heard. The Rengalla exchanged gossip like it was an actual currency. Not that they were mean. Their involvement came from the fact that they were all nosy busybodies. “You all need to get better things to do,” she muttered.

  He smiled fully then. “Tell me about it.” He bent and pressed one long kiss to her mouth—lips closed, to her disappointment. “So you’ll come?”

  She sighed. “I’ll come.” But as she turned away, a whiff of frost crossed her mind. “Are you okay?”

  Outwardly, he seemed normal. But his mind held the slightest trace of cold—a thin vein of ice that made her leery. As though his entire persona were only an act. As though he was simply going through the motions.

  She didn’t like that at all.

  “I’m fine.” There was an edge to those words that made her pause, that brought every bit of caution she’d fostered in the relationship with her mother to the surface.

  The instinct to avoid the conflict was great.

  Her feelings for Mason were stronger.

  And the man in front of her was Mason, not a cold-eyed, grabby-handed bastard who wanted something from her she wasn’t willing to give.

  He’d saved her life. Promised to go slow despite the fact that his urge to bond with her was intense. He was the man who’d listened to her deepest, darkest secrets and hadn’t batted an eye.

  The man who had accepted her—oozing wounds of the past and all.

  “You’re not fine.” Her voice was strong, she thought, not revealing the warnings interspersed in her mind.

  She wished she could say she was absolutely certain that he wouldn’t turn away from her, wouldn’t hurt her, but that wasn’t entirely true. She trusted him, had faith in him, but those feelings were newly grown. One didn’t just shed off the hurts of the past in an instant. It was a slow metamorphosis—a caterpillar transforming into a butterfly. So, although she hoped she was right, that hope was a fragile thing. A sharp word from Mason and she would crumble—

  No. Fuck that. She wouldn’t crumble.

  She was smarter, tougher than that little girl of her past—and that little girl had been damned strong. To survive what she had, to come through the darkness relatively unscathed, she’d had to be.

  Strength wasn’t the issue.

  Instead, it was whether or not she would ever be able to open up enough to put her heart into someone else’s hands.

  “Gabby.”

  Her name was a soft whisper of sound in the space between them. Mason speaking didn’t surprise her. Rather, it was the wealth of feeling in the five letters of her name.

  Affection. Anger. Pride. Concern. Sadness.

  Those emotions spread across the link of their minds—a woven tapestry of twisted thoughts and untried fondness.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated.

  “No,” she said, stepping right up to him, crowding him in the narrow entryway of her quarters. They’d moved all but five feet from the door, but she vowed right then that she wouldn’t take another freaking step until he told her what was the matter. “You’re not okay.”

  Her chin lifted, her feet spread as she barred the exit. If he wanted to avoid the issue, he’d have to go through her.

  But he wouldn’t do that.

  Because he wouldn’t hurt her.

  She straightened her shoulders. “You’re not fine or all right or okay. No,” she said, when she felt the protest well up. “There’s something eating at you, something big, something destructive, and I don’t like it. So either own up and tell me what it is or stop letting it destroy you.”

  Silence, heavy, heavy silence stretched between them for a long, uneasy moment.

  He stared at her, his hazel eyes unfathomable as his mind became so tangled and snarled that she couldn’t discern a single feeling.

  Then the corner of his mouth popped up.

  His mind cleared.

  And the frost, the icicles that had been threatening to dislodge and impale them both, disappeared, laughter taking their place. It tinkled across their connection, lightened his eyes.

  He reached across the few inches of space between them and tenderly cupped her cheek. “Oh, Sunshine,” he murmured.

  His forehead rested on hers, his free hand came up to the other side of her face, and they stayed like that for a long time, the moment stretching until the closeness of the contact, of their bodies and minds made her eyes sting.

  Blinking against the sudden intimacy but relieved that Mason’s mind was no longer clogged with ice, she stepped back. “I’ll go get changed.”

  He leaned in, ran his thumb across the skin beneath her lashes, and wiped away moisture she hadn’t realized was there.

  She watched, mesmerized, as he lifted his thumb to his mouth. “You taste like you smell—floral and tart,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s sexy as hell. And too damned distracting.”

  “That’s a bad thing?” she asked, the question wobbling the slightest bit as desire flooded through her. It made her thighs clench, her lips tingle in anticipation.

  For good reason, it seemed. Because barely had the words left her mouth and he was bending and slanting his mouth across hers.

  Heat.

  So much heat with such little contact.

  Mason’s hands weren’t even on her, his body held
away from hers. The scorching hotness came only from his mouth.

  It was spectacular.

  She found herself leaning closer, eliminating the distance between them, wanting the contact of his hard chest against hers. She needed to feel the physical proof of his arousal, to press every inch of her body to his. But the moment her breasts brushed against his front, he groaned and pulled back.

  “Gabby,” he warned and tried to back away.

  She ignored that, lacing her hands around his neck, attempting to pull him down to her.

  He didn’t budge, just gently unlatched her arms and set her away from him.

  Her eyes shot to his, no doubt filled with the question pinging around in her mind. Why was he stopping? She could feel his arousal across the bond. It blazed as hot as her own.

  His lips turned up. “Because if we don’t stop now. I’m going to have you sprawled across that bed.” He crouched a little, a slight stoop that put their stares at equal level. “And as much as I want that, pleasuring you within an inch of your life isn’t exactly taking things slow.”

  “But I want you,” she said then frowned at the almost whining tone. “Never mind. I don’t want to be that girl.” Feeling slightly stung and knowing with absolute certainty that she had no reason to, she began to turn away.

  He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I want you,” he said, rotating her so that she faced him fully.

  “I know,” she said. His desire still reigned firm along their link, still made her quiver with need. But beneath that passion was reticence, and the connection they shared wasn’t strong enough for her to discern whether that was because he didn’t want to want her—if that even made sense—or if it really was his intention to take things slow that had him throwing up the red light.

  The curse that flew from his lips startled her.

  She jumped. “Wh-wh—?” she stammered, not even getting the entire question out before his mouth slammed onto hers.

  This time there was more than just his lips. The kiss was teeth and tongue, hands and body. His presence threatened to overwhelm her, it was so damned strong but, despite her inexperience, she wasn’t scared. More like every nerve in her body was finally functioning, finally firing. She finally felt alive.